dirt don't hurt

By Karrie McAllister Trust me, I’m a candy eater. I’m the one who picks through my children’s Easter baskets and says “oh, these candies look a little funny, I’d better taste them all just in case.” The candy, coupled with the Spring flowers and chance to finally wear flip flops again makes me a big fan of April. (I’m purposely overlooking the fact that sometimes here in Ohio we’re trading our sandals for snowboots.) But a little time on the Internet and you’ll find that there are plenty of reasons to celebrate the month of April. It seems that, over the years, people have somehow concocted obscure holidays that I didn’t even know about, giving us an excuse to party every day of the year. A quick visit to www.holidayinsights.com and I’ve got an extremely packed schedule this month. There are just too many holidays to celebrate. The 14th of April is Look Up At The Sky Day. I’m hoping it’s a nice day. I might just stand out there for a long time and feel a little poetic. Thankfull...

By Karrie McAllister I guess technically it wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t even really avoiding the truth. It was just a simple statement that, while true, wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. But it was all for the good of my family. Today, my five-year old daughter had a tonsillectomy. And trying not to scare the living daylights out of her, I told her all about what her hospital visit would be. I told her that she would be treated like a real princess, because when she walked in they would dress her in a gown and give her jewelry—namely, a bracelet. OK, so a rear-flapping cotton gown is hardly ball worthy, and a hospital ID bracelet is hardly jewelry, but you can see where I was going with this. I also mentioned that while she got to lie in a bed and be treated like royalty, I had to sit in a chair next to her dad for five whole hours. Needless to say it worked. The night before the operation she was actually dancing around singing “I get to have my tonsils out!” and taunting her brother...

By Karrie McAllister Being raised in the suburbs, I never really saw dancing cows. I had seen plenty of cows just standing around and doing what cows are famous for doing, but no dancing. It wasn’t until I was driving from my first job through eastern Ohio farmland that I saw them. They were running and jumping and chasing each other, and I swear I saw one of them doing a bit of a hula. Thinking that I had witnessed some natural miracle, I asked a farming co-worker if cows could really jump. I was all ready to drive back with a film crew when he spoiled it for me. “Nah, what you saw is normal. They’re just happy it’s Spring. Spring fever, that’s all.” Once I got over feeling stupid for not knowing cows could actually jump, I tucked that memory away in the corners of my mind, and I pull it out again every Spring. Because no matter how old or young we are, come that first warm day in northeast Ohio, we’re all are out there dancing around like a bunch of cows. After being cooped up i...

By Karrie McAllister I realize it’s generally frowned upon to drag children through airports while mumbling profanities at your husband. But keep in mind that he is walking happily ahead of you, carrying only a backpack and you are weighed down with 2 carry-ons, a doll, and a kid on each hand. Plus I’m pretty sure I was holding a coloring book in my mouth. The reason for the hurriedness is that we weren’t comfortably early for the flight. But not late, either, mind you. So after leaving the ticket counter, the race began. My husband walked like a normal person. We barely slid along like a three-headed bag lady. And after a few “hurry ups!” my calmness had gotten the best of me, and right there in the airport the gates of motherhood opened. “Don’t tell us to hurry up. We’re SLOW. We’ve got junk galore to carry and they’ve got little legs and if we don’t get everything packed so they’ll be happy then I guarantee your trip will be even worse than this lecture in the middle of the sec...

By Karrie McAllister Nietzsche stated, “That which does not kill us makes us stronger.” And looking back at our last few weeks, I can only pray that this applies to my children. Recently I made a very poor parenting decision, one which resulted in hysterical children and a spontaneous trip the store. So I have to ask myself, are my parental blunders strengthening my children’s character, or am I just scarring them for life? Let us examine the occasion that brought about tears and unbelievable guilt: Art class gone very, very bad. I am a firm believer in the arts, and when the chance came for my kids to take local classes in creativity, I practically glue-sticked the paint brushes in their little hands. Week after week, I talked it up, praising their work like any good mother should. Sure they had simply spent an hour smearing paint around, but they were so proud of what they made. And so was I. When “clay week” rolled around, they worked especially hard. Of course my daughter churn...

By Karrie McAllister It seems like only yesterday I was writing about avoiding germs... But today, let me provide you with a dazzling visual: I have not put on makeup in two days. My eyelids are barely supported by the new set of purplish luggage that now rests beneath them. I have also been wearing the same sweater for the last few days, only because it’s warm…and it has pockets. Two of them—one for clean tissues, and one for not-so-clean tissues. I have wiped more noses than I can count. And despite the fact that I took a few semesters of science in college, I have given enough doses of cough syrup to have finally mastered English to Metric conversions -- so long as it’s only ½ or 1 teaspoon. (FYI: 2.5 and 5 ml, respectively.) As you may have guessed, the cold and flu season has finally reared its ugly, coughing head in our home. And while I personally haven’t been hit yet, I’d be fibbing if I didn’t wish I could take some nighttime medicine so maybe, just maybe, I could get a ...

“For better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, even though she won’t iron or repair lost buttons, as long as you both shall live.” Exactly. And he bought it. In the grand scheme of things, I’d probably say that I’m a fairly good housewife. I do an okay job keeping the place clear of dustball tumbleweeds and for the most part you can see out the windows. (Just ignore the cheese that a certain tiny person smeared along the bottom of each one.) I excel in the kitchen, if the expanding size of our waists is any indication and even use fancy ingredients like darkened sesame oil and capers. Laundry, however, is another story. In fact, clothing in general is my greatest household weakness. I like to blame it on my childhood, because my grandmother ironed everything she could get her hands on, even the underwear. My mother, therefore, followed in her footsteps, and I spent many hours as a child pressing off the one thing I couldn’t really screw up: hankies. I probably ironed more ...